Babysitting Blues
by Sophia Anya Lee
Summary: Albus Dumbledore was probably the greatest wizard alive. So, after his famed defeat of Gellert Grindelwald, babysitting should be a piece of cake, huh? Not so, as Dumbledore discovers when he volunteers to babysit seven-year old Minerva McGonagall...
1. Chapter 1

_**Hiya! This idea struck me out of the blue and I was like – heyy, no one thought of this, so why shouldn't I go ahead with it? Yeah, it might be a little crazy … and I'm warning you … humour is seriously not my forte … but read, anyway. And this chapter is just an intro, no humour here … just to explain how Albus got himself into the situation in the first place.**_

_**Of course, I'm meddling with JK's stuff. If only it was mine.**_

_**Summary – Albus Dumbledore was probably the greatest wizard alive. So, after his famed defeat of Gellert Grindelwald, baby sitting should be a piece of cake, huh? Not so, as Dumbledore discovers when he volunteers to baby sit seven year old Minerva McGonagall … **_

_**Idiocy assured … but not in this chapter.**_

**Babysitting Blues **

**By Nymph of the Night**

**Chapter 1 – In which Albus visits Milan McGonagall and maybe, for the first time, suggests something very foolish**

'Mr. Dumbledore … could I get you some more?'

'Please, Mileva dear, call me Albus … and thank you very much; the waffles are very delicious indeed, but perhaps it would be a tad unbecoming if I stuff myself too much. I do appreciate the offer, all the same.'

Mileva McGonagall smiled inwardly at the response – it was certainly very frank coming from so accomplished and distinguished a wizard - before reacting to the compliment.

'Your always welcome, Mr. Dumbl- I mean, Albus. I'm glad you could make it; Milan will be most pleased … ah, and here he comes now.'

A tall, handsome man with midnight black hair marched briskly into the room. Though he was clad in nothing but a simple, blue gown and a pair of bedroom slippers, his poise and speech revealed a great deal about his persona.

'Ah! Albus,' he said, smiling authentically as Albus Dumbledore stood up and the two shook hands amicably. Albus perceived that the man appeared to pale and slightly weary; there were dark circles under his eyes as though he had not had enough sleep lately albeit he could make out that his pleasure at seeing Dumbledore was genuine.

He shook himself out of contemplation as the man continued, 'So Ditsy wasn't pulling my leg, after all,' he chuckled as he sat down at the breakfast table and Albus resumed his seat. 'And I gave the poor house elf such a telling off for waking me up so early … she was startled out of her pillowcase (**AN:** House elves wear pillow cases) but if you look at it that way, it seems rather implausible that you should be here so early in the morn.'

'I apologize for having disrupted your sleep, dear fellow,' Albus replied apologetically, chuckling back as he realised his conjecture had been quite accurate; the man had, indeed, been cutting off on his sleep. 'Especially since you were out late last night at the Ministry. But I just happened to be passing by and thought I might drop in for a visit.'

'Well, you're always welcome at McGonagall Manor,' Milan McGonagall said readily, helping himself to the waffles that Mileva had left on the table and spreading them with a generous helping of honey. 'Particularly, when Mileva makes waffles … and believe me when I say there's nothing that can match them!'

'Indeed, I couldn't agree more,' Albus approved, nodding at the brown and gold-tinted architecture heaped on Milan's plate. 'Your wife's culinary skill are really unmatched.'

'Thank you, I shall be sure to let her know,' Milan replied sincerely. 'Where is she, anyway?'

'I'm here, darling,' Mileva called out, stepping into the room, fully dressed in long, billowing white robes. Milan looked at her, evidently surprised to see her dressed for work. She frowned at his astonished expression. 'Oh, for god's sake, Milan … don't look so clueless! I do remember telling you last night that I was wanted today at St. Mungo's, today … some spell gone awry and now the man's yelling his head off about hallucinations of Dark Wizards digging his great-aunt's grave to uncover some lost family treasure … I'll go nuts one day for sure … working with lunatics … hmm, best go and check it out …' She sighed and kissed Milan on the cheek. '…and being Head Healer, I'm sure to have a few more deluded nutcases up … so, I doubt I'll make it back before nightfall … and in view of that, it'll be up to you to look after Min.'

'Yes, of course,' Milan said, as though he had seen this coming. He glanced at the wooden staircase that led to the bedrooms. 'Isn't she up yet?'

'Yes, she is … but she's reading in bed … you'd better get her out…' Mileva returned resignedly, exasperated at having to work on a weekend, when she'd rather be spending time with her daughter, husband and his rather charming colleague. 'Well, thanks for coming, Albus … sorry about this, but I really have to go … you're always welcome any time!'

'Not at all, I ought to be thanking you,' Albus said appreciatively. Mileva smiled ruefully and made her way to the door. A few minutes later, the two men heard the door being shut and footsteps down the walkway that led to the main gates of the huge manor.

'Ah, well,' Milan sighed at length. He seemed to be regretting the fact that he had finished the waffles so quickly, now that Mileva wasn't there to make some more. 'Even Ditsy can't make them like she does … so might as well clean up.' He slipped his hand into his gown and withdrew his wand, then flicking it at the sticky, honey-covered, crumb-encrusted dishes so that they cleaned themselves in a zippy. Having directed the good-as-new plates back to a neatly arranged cabinet in the kitchen, he turned back to Albus.

'Well, Albus, shall we?' he finally asked his patiently-waiting guest.

'Certainly, Milan,' Albus replied, and followed as the man led him into a tastefully designed lounge and beckoned him to seat himself on one of the low-backed, comfy settees. Albus sat down and Milan took a seat opposite him, picking up a sheaf of very officially looking parchment. He flipped through the papers, his brows arched in a frown, eyeing them with the dread of an over-worked man and then, decided against reading the cases that day. He replaced them back on the side table.

'Wizengamot cases, I presume,' Albus said cheerfully as opposed to Milan's look of dread.

Milan breathed deeply and looked up at Albus; the exhaustion seemed to linger around his face once more. 'Yes, the Ministry's been piling with them since … Grindelwald's defeat,' – he looked significantly at Albus who suddenly seemed absorbed and fascinated by the sculpture of a water nymph by the fire place – 'there seems to be no end to the list of suspects who were supporting him … no end to the paperwork … not meaning too seem to pretentious … but I've been up for nights together trying to finish it off once and for all and yet …' He sighed and Albus felt truly sorry for him; the air of exhaustion around him was almost palpable. ' … and on top of that, the Auror departments is, no doubt, going downhill.'

Dumbledore tore his eyes off the sculpture and turned his attention back to his fatigued host. 'Well, there is a lot of truth in what you say …' he said musingly, resting his head in his hands, as though considering the matter. 'But the Auror department suffered the most when Grindelwald's campaign was active, so I assume they're now "taking a break" as I heard someone say the other day at the Ministry.'

'Yes, of course … but that is no reason to shun work completely,' Milan countered irritably, running his hands absently through his black hair. 'Anyway, the Law Enforcement Department is up to the neck in work …'

'I cannot say I disagree,' Albus said solemnly – being the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he knew just how tedious and energy sapping Ministry cases could be, specially when there were too many of them; hence, he quite sympathized with Milan, who happened to be the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and a close friend of his. He was about to continue on the dreariness of law cases when the appearance of a certain tawny feathered bird near the window-sill attracted his attention and he remarked instead, 'Why, Milan I do believe you have mail!'

Milan McGonagall jerked his head up in surprise, a trace of weariness still perceptible in his almond-shaped, emerald green eyes. 'No, the mail has already been delivered,' he said, frowning. 'Ditsy left it by my bed, earlier this morning. There were quite a few really; couple of them from the Ministry, few for Mileva and nearly dozens for Minerva from her two best friends, Poppy and Rolanda.'

Albus said nothing, but inclined his head slightly towards the large, tawny owl with rather wind-ruffled feather which had been patiently waiting at the window sill, with the letter-bearing leg stuck out. Milan took one look at the nocturnal creature and then, breathed in deeply as though willing himself not to yell in frustration.

'Ministry Owl,' he said, through gritted teeth and glared at the owl as though it was the cause of all his weariness and exhaustion. He would have very much liked to hex the owl into the next century except that he recognized it as the Minister's personal owl.

'And Arnold's personal owl, if I am not mistaken,' Albus remarked coolly as Milan untied the letter and read through it quickly, his eyes growing dimmer and dimmer with each line. Finally, he folded the long piece of parchment and slipped it into his robes wordlessly.

He walked back to Albus.

'Well,' he pronounced finally, slumping back into the couch. 'It appears that the Minister has called a meeting of all Heads of Departments at exactly 7 'o' clock. And the time now, happens to be quarter to seven-' he gritted his teeth in aggravation – ' … but no, I ought to be glad Mr. Forgetful at least had the grace to inform me fifteen minutes prior … there was a time, when he just barged into my office to notify me of the Oliver Decks trial!'

Albus laughed merrily; Arnold Andrews' habit of informing Ministry officials about anything and everything just a few minutes prior to the deadline was infamous amongst all Ministry-connected persons. This practice of his, particularly aggravated Milan, who was a very laconic and orderly person and did nothing without prior planning. Albus well remembered the Oliver Decks trial only too well, which had been delayed by a full one hour due to this unconventional trait of the Minister, who had in the end, ran out of the Wizengamot and dragged back with him a very unprepared, harried and bewildered Milan McGonagall to hear the case.

'I suppose you'll be going,' Albus said at last, when he had finally managed to stop laughing.

'Of course,' Milan said wryly, making to walk out of the lounge to change into something more fitting for a Ministry convention. 'Don't have much choice do I?' He was almost out of sight, when something seemed to strike him and he winced. 'Minerva!'

'I beg your pardon?' Albus asked, taken aback.

'Minerva …' he repeated, ignoring Albus for once. 'Oh Merlin! I completely forget! And Anna Maria isn't home today!'

'Minerva?' Albus said blankly, suddenly recollecting that this certain person in reference happened to be Milan's seven year old daughter. 'What about her?'

'I can't leave her alone at home,' Milan breathed, annoyed at not having thought of this before. 'Though she wouldn't mind …'

'Then, why not leave her?' Albus wondered aloud, making no effort to contain his thoughts for he knew Milan would not mind.

'Ah, it'll be the house I'll have to worry about then,' Milan returned sarcastically, smirking as Albus looked at him, more confused and puzzled than ever.

'I assume you mean … but just how much damage can a seven year old girl- capable of magic as she may be - inflict on a house?' Albus questioned quizzically.

'Ah, _now_ you say that,' Milan countered pointedly. 'Don't you ever make the mistake of saying that in front of her; she'll have the house down to prove it … and believe me, it'll be the last thing on your mind _after _you've seen her.'

Then, it suddenly seemed to strike him that he was running late for a Ministry conference.

'Oh, Albus!' Milan yelped, slightly hysterical. 'You're the greatest wizard in the world … now tell me … my sister-in-law, Anna Maria normally comes to look after her … but she isn't in today … where do I leave her?'

Albus smiled serenely as Milan grabbed the nearest set of black robes and put them on hurriedly, dusting it frantically to make it look presentable enough for a Ministry head. 'Might I suggest that I look after her?'

Milan stopped dusting the robes immediately, made as if he was about to choke and stared at Albus for one incredulous minute, then he burst out laughing, 'If that was a joke, Albus, it was a very poor one!'

'My dear Milan,' Albus returned evenly. 'Even I, with my limited sense of humour, can evolve a better joke than that. I assure you … I'm quite serious.'

Milan threw his hands up in defeat. 'Well, I guess you'd better be … I'm running out of time … and there seems to be no other choice … umm, are you quite sure?' he queried, looking at Albus peculiarly.

'Dear fellow, why do you keep asking me if I'm serious?' Albus posed the question that had been troubling him for quite a while. 'Is she very dangerous?'

It seemed rather preposterous that the greatest wizard of all time should be asking this of a seven year old girl.

Milan, however, in his obligation to make it on time to the Ministry, had already ascended the long, winding staircase and he beckoned Albus to do the same before replying to his ludicrously posed query. 'No, she isn't dangerous. But she's rather … how do you put it … older? … rational? … maybe, yes … she's rather rational for a seven year old. She also happens to have an inflammable temperament and does not take very kindly to being left alone with strangers.'

'What-' Albus began, but Milan had already swerved left and now was holding a large oaken door ajar for Albus to enter.

Albus straightened his robes and breathed deeply, not knowing for once, what he was getting himself into.

_**Ooookay, that's all for this chappie! Next up, will Minerva let Albus babysit her … Mmm, I'm thinking not … loads of yelling up … And please, please, please hit the button below and review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hel-lo there! Yay… looks like you guys really like this, I swear I hadn't expected so many reviews :D smiles happily Thanks a ton to all those who reviewed. And I am so sorry for the super-long update, I was going through hell studying for exams … and now I'm free!! I am not sticking to my usual style of writing for this one, just writing it as a break from other fics, so it won't be half as descriptive as the others.**_

_**Oh yeah, do I need to reiterate the disclaimer? You must know it by heart …**_

**Chapter 2 – In which Albus Dumbledore decides that seven year olds are not necessarily as naive as they seem **

Albus Dumbledore made to move forward, breathing in deeply and bracing himself inwardly for an intolerably pink room with red roses, white balloons, stuffed dolls and everything else a seven-year old girl would fawn over, all around, but Milan suddenly stuck his arm before him and barricaded him off the room.

Albus stopped obligingly and took a step back into darkness as he shot Milan a questioning glance.

'Well,' Milan replied, looking torn between worry, amusement and apprehension at the same time, as he shut the door noiselessly behind him and mutely hoped his daughter would not notice. 'I really don't think it's good for you to just barge in her room-' he hesitated slightly '-she appreciates her privacy.'

Albus shrugged noncommittally in reply. 'What do you want me to do?' he enquired politely, not very certain of how he was supposed to go the apparently strenuous task of a

babysitting a supposedly "rational" seven-year old; notwithstanding that he didn't have any babysitting experiences in the first place.

'Maybe, I should tell her first,' Milan suggested simply as he slowly pushed open the door, still facing Albus. 'Perhaps, she might take to you kindly, then.' The sceptical look on his face did nothing to improve Albus' already doubtful spirits. '_Might_,' he emphasized pointedly.

Albus sighed morosely. He hadn't expected babysitting to be so problematic; he had only been looking forward to it as a welcome break from the extraneous paperwork he had been so unsympathetically subjected to before and after Grindelwald's campaign. 'I suppose,' he muttered incoherently, but Milan had already opened the door. Bright light emanated through the unbolted door and Albus peered furtively over Milan's shoulders and attempted to catch a glimpse of his babysitee, whilst staying in the shadows.

'Ahem,' Milan cleared his throat authoritatively, addressing both Albus, who was now leaning heavily on his shoulder without apparent cause, unless he was trying to exercise his neck, which was unlikely, and his young daughter, whose face was obscured by some ancient book which she had obviously managed to extract from the family's huge library upstairs.

'Uh-huh,' someone replied from behind the book distractedly.

Albus gave up trying to look across Milan's shoulders; it was futile, the man was too tall, anyway. This was unfortunate though; at that precise moment, Milan shoved a defeated-looking Albus into his young daughter's room.

Albus shut his eyes quickly and then opened them again, overwhelmed by the bright light, having carried out a whispered conversation in the dark for the past few minutes. When his eyes finally adjusted to the radiance, he quickly scanned the room. And what he saw wasn't exactly what he had been expecting.

Minerva McGonagall's room extended over quite a large span and was ostensibly devoid of anything seven-year old. In fact, Albus would have reflected the room to be some studious OWL year student's had he not been aware of Minerva's tender age. The walls were covered more charts on Transfiguration and Defence against Dark Arts than was requisite for a seven-year old, though a few posters of Autumn Kerrie, a eminent and accomplished female Quidditch player, dotted the walls in some places. A bookshelf adorned the adjacent wall and seemed to be groaning piteously under the weight of myriad ancient manuscripts and a half-opened trunk near the bed revealed a collection of old newspaper cuttings of all-important events in wizarding history. His eyes finally fell on the bed, where the girl was sitting, engrossed in the book (black cover and golden lettering – Dark Arts through the Ages) and oblivious to their presence; he could only make out the top of her midnight black hair. Albus was deeply shocked that a seven year old would read a text so full of the Dark Arts, but kept his superfluous thoughts and opinions to himself.

'Minerva,' Milan called out sharply again, sounding distinctly annoyed as Albus continued his survey of the chamber. 'Minerva, the book down for Merlin's sake!'

'Huh?' Minerva returned vaguely, her head obedient to her father's call, her eyes still lingering on the receding print of the book. 'What?'

'Come on, Minerva,' Milan snapped finally, pulling the book out of her reluctant hands. She jerked back in surprise and squinted at him quizzically.

Albus caught his first glance of the young girl - Minerva McGonagall was a tall and lanky but pretty girl for her age; she seemed to have inherited her attractive appearance entirely from her rather handsome father. Her hair fell straight down to her shoulders and was curled at the tips and her emerald green eyes bore straight onto her father's green ones, looking both irritated and questioning.

'Now listen, I have a Ministry meeting –' he began tentatively, once he was sure he had her undivided attention.

'And Mum's gone to work, so Aunt Maria's coming over to see to me,' she finished in a bored voice, a trace of hurt evident in her explicitly biting tone as she made to snatch the book back from him. 'Why don't you just get her to live here? Anyway, she's more at home than you are.'

Albus was a bit taken aback by her quick and cutting retort, and then felt a pang of sorrow for both Minerva and Milan, who looked stung by her words, but recovered swiftly.

'Minerva-'

'Yeah, I know you love me, I love you too,' she interrupted in the same, monotonous, uninterested tone of voice. 'Can I have the book back now?'

Milan sighed wearily and opened his mouth to speak, hoping she would not cut across him in that painfully sharp tone once more. 'Minerva, listen, Aunt Maria isn't home today,' he stated slowly, waiting to see how she would react, but she was reaching out for the book from the bed.

'Yay, celebrate, I get to stay home alone,' she returned sarcastically, folding her skinny arms across her chest in defiance when her father put the book on the top of the wardrobe, well out of her reach. 'Big deal,' she snorted grumpily.

'No, I've got someone else to baby-sit you,' Milan countered, pulling Albus, who had until now been engaged in familiarizing himself with the manifestation of the room, clearly into view.

'Great – I get to make new friends,' she breathed cynically, and then, it suddenly seemed to strike her what he had just said. 'WHAT?!'

Milan mentally braced himself for abundant yelling; seeing as he was already running ten minutes late for the meeting, he might as well listen to one of Minerva's entertaining tirades before the dreary convention.

'I-have-got-a-new-baby-sitter-for-you.' Milan said clearly, avoiding the death glare she was sending him. It sometimes made him wonder how she could be so fearless and intrepid, completely unafraid of him, or anything for that matter.

_And he was supposed to be the father._

'I AM NOT BEING LOOKED AFTER BY A COMPLETE STRANGER!' she yelled loudly, glaring fiercely at her father.

Albus, who had been watching the scene all along with unrivalled curiosity and interest mixed with a dash of bewilderment at her unique and unsurpassed retorting ability, smiled privately. He could not but help feel a resentful, unholy admiration for the girl's complete lack of fear. If there was any house young Minerva McGonagall would be placed into when she went to Hogwarts, it would most certainly be Gryffindor.

'Yes, you are, young lady,' Milan said, just as stridently in his best no-nonsense voice, looking straight in the defiant eye. 'Now thanks to you, I am already running a good fifteen minutes late for the meeting –'

'Oh, so it's my fault, is it?' she fumed angrily, getting out of bed and placing her hands on her hips, looking rather ominous for her age.

'Minerva, this really isn't the time,' Milan sighed wearily, gently ruffling her hair, not in the least attempting to soothe her because he knew it was ineffectual to do so, in any case. She pulled away from his hands instantly albeit a tad regretfully.

'Well, I still mean what I say,' she said irritably, slumping back into the bed. 'I AM NOT BEING SITTED BY ANYONE OTHER THAN AUNT MARIA!'

She shot Albus an irate glower but he was staring at the ceiling and twiddling his thumbs nonchalantly, deaf to the heated discussion between father and daughter taking place before him.

Then, she turned to her father, her sharp mind fresh with a diatribe of indispensable arguments. 'How do you know if you can trust however this person is?' she shot pointedly. 'Suppose he only offered to baby sit me so that he can take the house for himself?'

Milan looked bowled over for a split second, and then a sudden thought struck him out of the blue. He pulled down the book Minerva had been reading from its perch on the cupboard top. 'Dark Arts through the Ages,' he muttered. 'What have you been reading, honestly…'

'At least, I'm aware the world isn't all full of brilliant wizards,' she snapped testily, wrenching the book from his firm grasp. 'There are loads of cases here, see page nine hundred and forty six, where-' She flipped through the pages quickly and shoved the book under Milan's nose.

'Minerva, I'm late,' Milan said in a very final sort of a way, pushing the yellowed pages of the book away. 'I really have no wish to put any restrictions on what you read but if you get such dangerous ideas from them … anyway, Albus has already agreed to babysit you.'

He turned on his heel and whispered into an unsuspecting Albus' ears, 'Best of luck.' Then, with one brisk trot, he was out of the room.

'Albus – you don't mean … wait, who?' she queried, mystified for a split second and then, her eyes fell on Dumbledore, who was eyeing her amicably. 'Him?' she breathed, voice dripping with revulsion as though Albus was some new species of an objectionable Flobberworm that had landed right next to her. She glanced at him quickly, taking in his auburn hair, warm, twinkly blue eyes, long, eccentric-looking, outlandish robes. Her mind was clouding with suspicion. _Why had he offered to look after me? Voluntarily? Looks garish … Maybe…_

'DAD, WAIT!' she shouted defiantly, skidding across her room, pushing Albus brusquely out of the way. 'DAD, I'M NOT BEING LOOKED AFTER BY SOME ANONYMOUS PERSON! How do you think you can trust him? I mean, look at him … dad?"

Fifteen minutes later, Albus could still hear her flinging pointless and largely farfetched accusations at both him and Milan.

He ran his fingers glumly through his beard to occupy his redundant fingers and shook his head in clear defeat. "Boy, what did I get my self into?"

To be continued…

_**He, he … next chapter … Albus has an interrogation from an unimpressed Minerva! Please, please, please reviews!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hi, thanks again for the lovely reviews, hope the super long break has not put you off this, I still intend to finish it! Um, I don't really like this chappie, but guess you deserve an update! Thanks for putting up with my laziness…**_

_**Bon appetite!**_

**Chapter 3 – In which Albus Dumbledore decides that the interviewer is not necessarily always older than the candidate**

Albus Dumbledore leaned back into the hard, wooden chair at the dining table lazily and stifled a hippo-sized yawn; his babysitee could still be heard yelling pointless and largely exaggerated insults at the fresh air of the Scottish manor. He fingered the wood of the table gently to pass time, his mind still wondering as to what dreadful fate awaited him when that girl got back…

Damn you, Dumbledore, he told himself, after all, you areten times her age…

As usual, he didn't have a clue as to how misleading his thoughts were.

'Hel-lo!'

A sharp, cold voice brought him back to earth with an unpleasant 'thud'; Albus looked up to find Minerva McGonagall staring at him, fuming and red-faced, her deep, green eyes had a weird, steely glint that suggested to a normal person that she was liable to explode any minute now and he would do best to shut up.

But again, Albus Dumbledore was _not_ a normal person; ignoring the ominous flash in her eyes, he turned to cluelessly twinkle at her, a huge, gormless smile plastered on his face as he cried enthusiastically, 'Why, hello, dear!'

Apparently this was a very wrong thing to say; Minerva exploded with the force of a particularly-nastily thrown Dungbomb.

'Excuse me? I AM NOT YOUR DEAR!'

Albus, who had obviously not been expecting this Mt. Vesuvius eruption (as if he had called her a Mudblood! he snorted inwardly), nearly fell out of his seat in alarm, as the young girl calmly took a seat opposite him, placed her hand below her neck and seemingly continued her interrupted survey of his bodily aspects as though she was preparing to write a thesis on the body parts of Albus Dumbledore.

'Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew, are those lemon drops?' she asked him after a brief period of contemplation, wrinkling her nose in disgust as though Albus was a foul, smelly cat that had just landed on her nice and clean Persian carpet.

Albus looked mortally affronted as he squinted down at his choicest robes. Deciding that the last thing he needed was an outburst on the print of his favourite robes, he decided to ignore this unkind and insensitive slight.

Minerva did not seemed to mind his indifference in the least; she continued staring at him, taking in every tiny detail and remarking every minute or so, as though Albus had no clue as to what nightmarish garb he had put on.

'Your hat is lilac,' she said with the oh-my-gosh-I-can't-believe-this air of someone deprecatingly informing their apprentice (obviously, a fashion dud) that they had just put on a flowery tablecloth for graduation robes.

Albus continued staring politely at her; he was very comfortable with his butt glued onto the chair, thank-you-very-much, and had no wish whatsoever of being blown off by her screaming again.

'It doesn't match.' she added grimly, shaking her head as though in her opinion, it should have been against the law to wear such horribly mismatched garments.

Albus clamped his mouth shut with the force of an oyster, wondering silently, 'Yes, dearie, keep the obvious statements coming….'

'Your hair's frightfully long, isn't it?' she continued contemptuously, giving Albus the impression that she thought men with long hair should be unallowed in her house. 'My first cousin, Angus had long hair as well, it went all the way down his back … and he's twenty five and rather smart. All the stupid, pretty girls who came in with their dads and marriage proposals went all giggly and started blushing right to the roots of their hair and all… and their fathers shooed them in the end and told him rather firmly that in their opinion, they didn't want their _precious _daughters marrying a sissy. Anyway, he didn't get a decent bride until last year _after _Aunt Victoria grabbed a pair of scissors and chopped it right down. Cressida's really beautiful and she's clever too; not a twit like the others; all beauty, not a pea for brains … in any case, he admitted in the end, that he was better off with short hair. Personally, I think he's smitten by her,' she finished in an approving voice.

Albus wondered if he was supposed to laugh; the truth be told, his mouth was rather aching to chuckle at her matter-of-fact narration of her poor first cousin's tale and the tragic fate of his hair, but he did not, for the fear of offending her and leading her onto the entirely wrong impression that he was laughing at her story telling skills. He glanced quickly at her, biting back hilarity; she seemed to be pondering on the loss of prospective sister-in-laws and the complexities of men and marriage. Albus speculated as to whether her yarn could have been marriage advice in disguise for him; then, he mentally booed and threw tomatoes at the suggestion – he had never been given marriage counsel by anyone, let alone a "rational" seven-year old. Anyways, he convinced himself (or rather, tried to), there was no way Minerva knew that he was still a bachelor.

'Who are you?' she asked finally, coming out of her reverie; having run out of any more of his clothes to criticize, tales of unfortunate cousins to recount and unambiguous facts to comment on.

Albus thought that the girl must be a bit thick; in any case, Milan had saved him the trouble of introducing himself. Nevertheless, it looked as though he would have to repeat the preamble once more, to avoid being humiliatingly chased out of the house by this most admirable young lady.

'Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.'

The girl stared at him incredulously; reading the sceptical expression on her face, he might as well have informed her that the sky was brown.

'I'm not thick, you know,' she snapped dispassionately, her eyebrows raised in disbelief as a lock of black hair dangled across her face. 'Dad did do me the honour of letting me know who he _thought _you were.'

'B-but you-'

'You expect me to believe that you _are _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?' she interrupted, cutting ruthlessly through his stuttering. Leaning forward across the table, eyebrows still raised, she demanded sardonically, 'Just how dim-witted would I have to be to believe that, Mister?'

She held out her arm, without taking her eyes of him; the _Daily Prophet _zoomed into her grasp and she flourished it in front of his eyes. Albus blinked hurriedly and then, pushed the paper a bit further so he could read more than dancing black and white letters.

The headline obscured most of the page; it read in large, screaming print, "DUMBLEDORE'S GREAT VICTORY, GRINDELWALD VANQUISHED." Below it ran an extremely long (and boring, Albus thought) article about the finer details of the long-awaited defeat of Grindelwald and below, a tremendously uncomfortable, monotoned Albus Dumbledore grimaced morosely back at him. Then, the _Prophet _vanished and he was once more staring at Minerva's face. She was smirking.

'I expect you noticed, Dumbledore has better jobs to do than running around babysitting a Ministry employee's daughter.' she leered, vanishing the _Prophet _with no effort at all, surprising Dumbledore by the extraordinary control she had over her magical powers at such a tender age. 'I mean, who are you, actually? You look a lot like him, though,' she ploughed on, looking mightily impressed, 'I don't think it's Polyjuice Potion, it'll wear off in an hour, you can't have been that stupid … you can't have used Transfiguration either, unless you're really good…' She looked thoroughly astounded now. 'How did you do it?'

Albus had never felt stupider in his life. Of all the dumb questions he had been asked in his life, (which included a absurd, "Do you like blonde women?" by the sexy, curvaceous, young journalist in an exclusive interview to the _Witch Weekly_ when he was supposed to be discussing his renowned defeat of Grindelwald and post-Grindelwald fame) he had to admit, this one took the cake. He was being asked how he looked like Albus Dumbledore. Which he couldn't answer. Because he basically _was _Albus Dumbledore. Which this marvellously clever girl was not going to believe. She either seemed to be labouring under the correct-me-please delusion that Dark Wizards had invaded the world and there was no way he was just another, good, saintly wizard. Or she just read way too much.

'I am Albus Dumbledore,' he said simply, choosing not to voice this long train of thought, (of which he considered the journalist-part too adult for her age, however bright she might be).

The girl's expression morphed from astonishment to exasperation in a blink of an eye. 'You're really dense, aren't you?' she huffed, rolling her eyes and tapping the table impatiently. 'I am Albus Dumbledore!' she mimicked in a voice that sounded uncannily like his. 'Let's try it another way, shall we?' She looked ridiculously sympathetic, like the way someone would stare at a deranged idiot and say, "Oh, I understand!" when they don't understand at all.

'Why do you want to babysit me?'

'Well, your father happens to be a close friend of mine-' Albus began in what he obviously thought was his best now-child-please-understand-and-don't-make-me-repeat-or-I'll-strangle-you voice.

'So?'

Albus blinked at Minerva, who was now leaning in her chair, arms folded across her chest, looking entirely unimpressed. He felt disconcerted; the girl had a way of throwing him off track, which was not something many could do.

'Well, he was in a hurry –'

'Really?'

'Well-'

'Because no one other than Aunt Maria has ever volunteered to babysit me before. I remember Irene Wellesley, who came in last year … they say she was never the same after I stuffed half-cooked enchanted haggis in her mouth.' She looked up innocently.

Albus stopped short. He privately thought that everybody had a rather good reason for this and was beginning to seriously doubt the sanity of this saintly Anna Maria lady, who was obviously either insane or super-sane if she was capable of looking after such an incomprehensible child; and at the same time, shuddered to think of his condition in twenty-four hours.

'So, you want me to believe that you are the guy who defeated Gellert Grindelwald?' she asked, looking very unconvinced.

'Yes, you can ask me what happened-'

'And have you rattle off answers that you must have by-hearted from the special edition of the _Prophet? _Puh-lease. Dumbledore's interview runs for _five _pages and the print's tiny! It has full details about what happened. I can _read, _you know.'

She rolled her eyes once more at Dumbledore, who was looking defeated and was on the verge of throwing his hands in the air with an embarrassing, 'You win! Can I go now?' when she barged into (hardly unusual) his thoughts again.

'Now let's try a truthful answer, this time! Why do you want to babysit me?'

'Really, Minnie-'

She flared at once, eyes flashing menacingly. 'MY NAME IS MINERVA AND I RATHER LIKE IT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!' she bellowed furiously, pushing her chair back and glaring at him in adamant rage, the look on her face reading, 'if you dare'. Albus shifted slightly in his chair.

'Minerva-'

She had cooled down somehow, her temper seemed to switch on and off like those Muggle … what was it … ah, eklekticity buttons, Albus thought jovially.

'Don't try to convince, it's very hard to.'

'Ah, I believe you, sweetheart!' Albus said absently, his mind still on the happy thoughts of Muggle substitutes for magic and the wondrous things they dreamt up. Minerva glared at him, she looked more likely to breathe fire than the Hungarian Horntail he had once chanced upon while roaming around at Budapest; even, it had been more docile (notwithstanding that it was hardly a month old).

'Sorry, it's just that, I mean, you are taking things to a very complicated level, aren't you?' he pleaded earnestly.

'You supposed I'd be a dumb cow, I expect? Some highly flowery singy-songy prat of a seven year old? I'm sorry, I can't stand girlish nonsense and if you're looking for angelic seven year old girls, you are in the wrong house.'

Ah, Albus thought wisely, I figured I'd got the address wrong. He rolled his eyes; this child was impossible. Apparently, she had given up trying to wheedle the truth out of him because she had jumped down the high chair and making her way up the stairs. Albus had followed her to the top of the stairs, when she turned around angrily and snapped, 'I should remind you that this _is _my house and I'm perfectly capable of finding my way around myself without you following me like an unwanted tail, thank you.'

She stormed into the unlit upstairs corridors, muttering something about unhinged lunatics and Albus wanting a chance to check out the house. Albus shook his head, decided that however difficult she may be, she was his responsibility till dear Milan was back and followed her discreetly anyway. Minerva, however, seemed to have some hidden sixth sense; she already knew he had been tailing her when he ran into her, dressed in scarlet bathrobes with a hand on the door to what was obviously the bathroom.

'And why would you follow me to the bathroom? I am seven years old and have perfect experience of bathing myself without you having to teach me.'

She disappeared without another word, but Albus stood patiently outside the door, wondering whether he was supposed to lift her and scrub her dry with a fluffy towel when she got out like he had seen once in a Muggle movie. Minerva seemed to have planned otherwise though; her venerable sixth senses at work again, she had sensed his continued wait outside the bathroom door.

The door flung open and she stood there, looking very incensed (and very wet). 'I thought I _told_ you I knew how to bath! Why have you come back, then? I really have _no_ interest in exhibiting my bathing self, so, if you'll excuse me, water is a precious resource.'

She turned back, taking care to slam the door in his face, leaving Albus to his very confused thoughts.

_**To be continued…**_

_**Comin' up next (unless I change my mind) – Minerva writes to two friends for help.**_

_**Thank you, my lovely reviewers and a special thanks to my friend Hanna for all the help she gave me when I was in bed with a nasty cold (she does not know I write and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her)! **_

_**Now here's a poem I got from my mum's old autograph book, modified it a bit, lemme know if it's soppy ;)**_

_**Dear reader of mine,**_

_**Would you be so kind,**_

_**To drop a line,**_

_**On this story of mine,**_

_**Your reviews and hints written so clearly,**_

_**And below signed so dearly**_

_**Remind me the fun**_

_**I've had while writing this one**_

_**SO DO REVIEW!**_

_**Ha, bad effort, I know (still, it's nice to do stupid stuff once in a while :) but please, please, please, please, please review!!!!! Love you if you do, you're the best!**_

_**Lee.**_


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